What are the chances? Twice in the space of four months last year, a small Canadian for-hire fleet had someone intentionally jump in front of its trucks and die. Both were obvious suicides, judged by police to be the final acts of two disturbed and desperate people. No connection between them. No fault of the carrier in question or its truck drivers, who were simply cruising along at normal highway speeds, minding their own business, earning a simple crust.

One of those drivers is still off work and, not surprisingly, still needing psychological counselling. The other left truck-driving after the incident and stayed away for several months. Neither one of them will ever forget the horror, I’m sure.

Nor will their boss, the decent man who runs this small family fleet. He’ll also be living these tragedies for years to come, and so will his company in higher insurance premiums: as we went to press, this fleet owner learned that the 15 to 20 per cent hike he’d been expecting — seemingly standard for a trucking company these days — likely would be more. Several thousand dollars have already been paid out to the estates or the so-called victims, not to mention the cost of repairs on the trucks involved. His insurance company has paid those bills, of course, aside from his deductible, and there will undoubtedly be more for it to deal with.

It will seem grossly unfair if this carrier’s ongoing insurance premiums jump substantially as a result of this misfortune when its unblemished safety record hasn’t changed one iota. Its motor carrier safety rating won’t be a factor, I’m assured, but from the insurance company’s perspective, the fact remains that costs have been incurred and still may be. Add plain bad luck to the mixture and this innocent fleet becomes a victim.

When I think hard about this, and I have been, I have to ask why should any money at all head toward the estates or families of the two sad souls who jumped into traffic? Whatever happened to the idea that we’re responsible for our own actions?

Here’s the only correct logic: if I choose to whack myself by using someone else’s truck/bridge/building — you name the instrument — the fault is mine, period. And if it’s my fault, then surely my own insurance or family or estate should bear the consequences. If there’s nobody to pay for my burial, let the state cover it. Instead, responsibility has been borne by the small fleet in question, which still could be sued for more. Why?

Sorry if I’m being simplistic, but I can find no reason whatsoever to think otherwise. Innocence is innocence, isn’t it? How can it be turned into guilt?

The real victims here are the fleet and its two drivers. I maintain that they should be compensated for their pain and financial suffering by the dead folks’ estates. Now that would be justice, because the two people who killed themselves were in fact perpetrators. If they’d shot themselves, would the gun maker be liable?

The awful, ugly irony here is that had those self-absorbed idiots survived and been severely incapacitated, the potential cost to both the fleet and its insurer would have been much, much higher. We won’t even talk about the chilling consequences had either of these incidents happened in the United States.

By the way, the reason I’m not naming the unlucky fleet involved is the fear that expensive havoc could ensue if it were identified. Havoc wrought by buck-thirsty lawyers who would doubtless rise from the sewers and convince the families of the “victims” to get greedy. That might yet happen, of course, incredibly enough.

The reason I’m writing about this at all, when in fact I’m concerned that it could harm the fleet’s insurance-renewal process, is that the owner insists on warning the rest of you. You’re all in danger, he says with passion, for just being on the road. Innocence isn’t enough in this new justice. Really, it seems innocence isn’t even possible.

Is it any wonder that some people, especially young ones raised in this ridiculous new world, have trouble distinguishing between right and wrong? And can’t understand the quaint old notion that they’re responsible for themselves — and for what they do? We’re giving them no guidance at all if we continue to call the innocent guilty. And the guilty innocent.

What all of this really means is that none of us is safe. I’m tempted to stay home for ever more. Flog the Dodge and sit on my recliner reading the big novels in the ever-rising pile by my bed. Never take the risk of stepping outside. Then wait for someone to trip on my perfectly smooth sidewalk and sue my sorry hind quarter for all it’s worth anyway.

Justice indeed.